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Ad Men

By: Ad Men



The executives from Dupont got the point, as their cocks began to point as well, toward Miss Holloway.

Babs and Penny strolled into the office, and Mr. Draper stood up.

Mr. Draper had not chosen randomly. Babs and Penny were among the more attractive girls within the office, and that was saying quite a bit. Sterling Cooper knew that good appearance can be as important as good work, particularly within advertising, where their product was itself a matter of display and presentation.

Babs was particularly striking. She seemed to being modeling her appearance after the glamourous Eva Marie Saint, with finely sculptured facial features, high cheek bones, sky blue eyes, pink lips (her favorite shade) and creamy smooth, immaculate skin. One would naturally ask, or at least wonder, if Mr. Draper hired her primarily for her looks. And, her attractiveness did not end with her prettiness. She had long, shapely legs, and full, thrusting, large breasts, which were even more prominent than those of Miss Holloway. She loved to wear tight, form fitting sweaters that did much to display her prominent boobs, strongly reminiscent of the sweater girls Lana Turner and Jane Russell. They jutted from her body like large pointy cones. The office boys would chuckle about being careful that they didn't poke out their eyes.

Today, she was wearing a pink cotton sweater, a tight, somewhat darker red plaid cotton skirt, and pink nylons. She was really a fetching sight.

"After all, gentleman," Mr. Draper continued, "It's now the 1960s, and the modern girl has something more on her mind than simply comfort, doesn't she?"

The two secretaries smiled at Mr. Draper. He was certainly right about that. Mr. Draper did have a good understanding of the needs and wishes of the modern woman, as would be expected for any successful advertising executive.

Miss Holloway understood more fully what Mr. Draper was suggesting. She did not become the Office Manager by just sleeping with management. Actually, she had slept with Mr. Draper, and with Mr. Slattery, but she had also fully deserved her position. "Absolutely, sir," she said, as she hitched her skirt up a bit higher, "Why wear such lovely nylons if they can't be seen."

A few gasps could be heard from the executives from Dupont, as well as from Penny, as Miss Holloway's skirt rose up her thighs, almost all the way to her panties.

"Yes," Mr. Draper articulated, putting out his cigarette. "That is our proposal, gentleman, our campaign." Miss Holloway had coined it well: "Why wear such lovely nylons if they can't be seen."

Mr. Grundleman was confused. "Mr. Draper, we don't manufacture skirts, and even if we did, I seriously doubt that the general public is ready for some sort of mini-skirt."

"'Mini-skirt' would be a good name for such a dress, Mr. Grundleman," he replied, lighting up another Lucky Strike, "and perhaps the public will in fact demand such a skirt, after they see your ads."

The executives imagined how provocative, and lovely, it would be to have ladies wearing such short skirts. Their cocks twitched with their imagination, which they recognized was little more than a bizarre, perhaps perverted, fantasy.

"Your nylons will create the desire, the need, through your ads, providing the desire to see your product, her nylons, her legs wearing your nylons. For example, one such ad might present a woman in the manner of Babs," he said, as he strolled over to her side, resting a hand on her shoulder. "She is expressing her disappointment that none of the gentlemen within, for instance, a boardroom could see her nylons, as they are, indeed, so attractive. The slogan could be, for instance, 'If only skirts were shorter!'"

The eyes of the men lit up. This did sound intriguing. They certainly wouldn't object to such a radical shift in women's wear.

"Babs, please, lift up your skirt."

"Of course, sir," Babs replied. She did not hesitate. She wasn't Mr. Draper's personal secretary for nothing. She reached down for the hem of her skirt. It was a bit difficult to pull up, as her skirt was down to her knees and quite tight. It took a considerable amount of wiggling to get it up past the top of her nylons and she accentuated her squirming and wriggling to increase the effect of the pleasurable sight. She was wearing pink lace, floral woven stockings, held up by a pink garter belt. The cocks of the men swelled anew with appreciation at the fine product their company had constructed.

Mr. Draper exclaimed, "Is it not a shame to hide such beauty, gentlemen?"

Nobody could possibly disagree.

Babs smiled proudly as the men's eyes feasted on the sight of her lovely legs. She was quite proud of them and did not at all mind showing them off. She did indeed wish that skirts were shorter.

Mr. Draper wrote in large letters across the whiteboard mounted on the easel: "After all, they are Dupont."

It was an instant and obvious hit. The Dupont executives all nodded with approval, although it wasn't entirely clear whether their approval was for the proposed slogans, or the sexy legs that were being displayed so enticingly before their eyes. It would be sweet enough for Babs to be showing them her sexy legs, but to do so in this setting, within a boardroom, as a secretary, with her skirt pulled up, made it so very much more appealing, more provocative, more arousing.

"Yes, yes, I see your point, Mr. Draper," Mr. Grundleman said, but he, as the boss, was not to be swayed by simply the sight of pretty legs. This would be a major advertising campaign, one of considerable cost and commitment on the part of Dupont. "But is that really all you have?"

"Would you like to see more, Mr. Grundleman?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

"Babs, please, let Mr. Grundleman get the complete picture."

"Mr. Draper?" Babs knew fully what Mr. Draper meant, and it wasn't what Mr. Grundleman had meant. Babs didn't mind showing a little leg, even a lot of leg, but more than that? She just wasn't too sure that she wanted to go further. She had done many things for Mr. Draper, and for other rich men, certainly a lot more than raising her skirt to show her panties, but it had always been in the privacy of a bedroom, or at least a hotel room. Never in public, never like this, like a stripper at one of those seedy clubs in the north end of the city.

Miss Holloway stepped forward to help Babs, and especially Mr. Draper. "Yes, of course, Babs. We're all adults here and this is business. It's just business." She turned to speak to Mr. Grundleman. "In fact, if you like what you see, perhaps there might be a position for Babs in your campaign, Mr. Grundleman?"

It was really Mr. Draper who would have the authority to pick the models, but Mr. Draper appreciated the astute proposal of Miss Holloway. Babs might need further incentive, and allowing Mr. Grundleman to participate in the selection could also be helpful in securing the contract.

Mr. Grundleman assented. He had caught Mr. Draper's meaning. He would, of course, prefer a more direct response to his question, but a little momentary digression would not be terribly harmful.

In any case, Babs needed no further encouragement. Fashion models made quite a bit of money, they were very, very popular at night clubs (even more so than stewardesses) and they certainly met very eligible and desirable bachelors. She had never imagined going from secretary to fashion model! This was in fact a very fortunate opportunity. Plus, she would not be asked to show anything more than any other model, or at least lingerie model. She pulled her skirt up well past her thighs to fully display her matching pink lace panties and garter belt.

It was beautiful sight. A couple of hands moved surreptitiously beneath the conference table to adjust, and lightly stroke, hard cocks straining within slacks.

Babs was ecstatic over the opportunity to actually become a model, but she did naturally blush at the fact that she was standing in the boardroom, her skirt lifted all the way up to her waist, displaying her sexy panties to these older male executives, and to her bosses. It was one thing to provide guys with a little quick peek at a nylon, of a thigh. She did this of course many times within and outside of the office. But, this did seem to be really quite explicitly sexual, if not rather dirty. This was the type of thing you saw in those risque detective magazines that were so obscenely displayed across the top of magazine stands: pictures of women, young ladies, in various stages of dishabille. She felt quite uncomfortable at having all these men staring at her, and so obviously staring at one place in particular. She fought the intense urge to cover herself, to provide herself with at least some modesty.

Babs did have a very full pussy mound, and it was nicely, tightly, snugly wrapped in her panties. She was not shaved. Very few women did back in the early 1960s. There was no camel toe to be seen. But, one did clearly see the outline of her feminine mound: the little rise of soft, feminine flesh.

Babs turned one leg in a bit and bent her knee, as if she could hide the mound of her cunnie with her thigh, but that only made the pose more provocative, revealing her unease, her discomfort with her state of undress, thereby making it all the more significant, personal, and appealing.

"Hmmph," Mr. Grundleman cleared his throat, trying to gather himself, trying to get back on track. "I'm really not too sure that we could have this in the ad."

Mr. Draper disagreed. "Well, I think you could. This is indeed the modern age of mankind, culture, and advertising. Animals are being launched into space, Andy Warhol turns a can of soup into art, our country has never seen a more profound concern with regard to the civil rights of its citizens." Mr. Draper was indeed a very forward and modern thinker. "But, frankly, I'm not actually proposing this for the ad. The eyes would naturally drift away from the nylons to the panties. Penny, what nylons are you wearing today?"

"Yes, yes," Mr. Thompson, a junior Dupont executive, spoke up. The junior Dupont executives always left the speaking to Mr. Grundleman, but Mr. Thompson really couldn't help himself. He so much wanted to see what Penny was hiding under her skirt.

Penny really wasn't so sure that she wanted to pull up her skirt. She had no aspirations to be a model, although she easily could've been. She had an Audrey Hepburn look, with short dark hair, curly bangs, large and velvety brown eyes that slightly tilted up at the outer corners and that seemed to sparkle like the diamonds she longed to obtain. She was not, though, a gold digger by any means. Indeed, she conveyed innocence, with a sweet smile, violet lips (her favorite shade), girlish dimples, and an elfin giggle.

Mr. Draper stepped over to her, behind her, and said, "The model would look quite forlorn, and the ad would read, 'Why must skirts be so short?'"

Penny did look a little uncomfortable, but it wasn't because her skirt was too long.

Mr. Draper kneeled down behind her, stuck his cigarette in his mouth, and, eyes blinking from the smoke, he lightly ran his hands up and down Penny's thighs.

"Oh my," Penny gasped.

Mr. Draper continued. "She just bought a new pair of Dupont nylons, and nobody could see them at all." He started to pull her skirt up himself.

"Mr. Draper!" Penny protested, but she did not actually stop him. It was clearly not the right time to refuse management a little indiscretion. After all, Babs already had her skirt pulled up, and Mr. Crane had done this a few times in the privacy of his office, even so far as to expose her panties. Her faced reddened further at the thought of doing that here. Mr. Draper really wouldn't pull her skirt up that high, would he? She expressed her ambivalence, her modest protest, by wiggling around and pulling back down on her skirt, ineffectively fighting Mr. Draper's effort to pull it up.

The men, however, found her struggle all the more endearing, and enticing. Girls who were fully willing to lift their skirts were very rare and certainly very delightful. Many eyes continued to glance over at Babs, who was now standing quite demurely with her hands clasped behind her pantied bottom, looking ever so appealing. But, girls who feigned objection, who made it difficult to uncover them, would make the eventual prize all the more delightful, as if they were indeed uncovering a very precious and well guarded treasure that was not easily obtained.

Mr. Draper's masculine strength, as well as his authority, eventually overcame Penny's doubts, or at least her resistance. Her skirt was pulled up to the top of her thighs. "Mr. Draper," she exclaimed, "This so naughty."

"Naughty but nice," he countered, returning his cigarette to his fingers, "so very, very nice. After all, they are Dupont."

The Dupont executives were never more proud of their product. Penny wore bridal stockings, which made her modesty more fitting and more adorable. They were sheer white, with three inch lace trim at the top, capped by white satin bows and faux pearls, along with a ruffle garter. As the executives admired the sight she blushed like a virgin bride, and perhaps she was, at least a virgin. She certainly did look like one, and a most desirable one at that.

Mr. Draper grandly drew his hands across the air before him, as if he was reading across a billboard, the smoke of his cigarette tailing behind: "Why must you wait for the wedding night, when it's a Dupont."

Penny wondered if she should feel so self-conscious. After all, if this was her wedding day, she would bare these thighs and nylons to all her family and friends, as her husband pulled from her the ruffled garter. But, still, that would itself be a bit embarrassing, having her husband reach up beneath her crinoline wedding gown, all the while apprehensive about perhaps showing too much. What if her guests saw her panties?

"Would you like to see her panties, gentlemen?"

"Mr. Draper, please, goodness. My panties?"

"Penny, don't you think the fine men of Dupont should know how much we value, how much we appreciate, their business?"

"Oh, Mr. Draper, I really don't know." Switching to RC Cola had been difficult enough, but actually showing clients her panties? It wasn't even yet clear that they would be Sterling Cooper clients. Is this really within her job description? She vowed to carefully review her contract when she got back to her desk.

Babs and Miss Holloway could see Penny's hesitancy, her ambivalence, and they came to her aid. They strolled up to her. Babs' skirt was still pulled up to her waist and the eyes of the men shifted from Penny to Babs' pink panty bottom waving back and forth as she approached Penny. Was there anything prettier than a pink panty girl? Probably a lot of things, but each male breathed a deep sigh of satisfying pleasure as he followed the path of Babs' wagging bottom.

Babs took a position to the left of Penny; Miss Holloway to the right. Babs placed a reassuring hand on Penny's shoulder. "It's really alright, Penny. It's just a little friendly peeking. Nobody will touch anything." She said, "See?" as she stepped back from Penny, letting her see that she was showing off her own panties with no apparent ill effects. "I don't mind at all."

Penny, though, was no Babs. Penny did mind. Models might have to be comfortable with exposing their panties to strangers, but secretaries did not. No, there was really something wrong, quite inappropriate in fact, about all this.

Miss Holloway stepped in. Managing the secretaries was her job, and she was not about to have on record that they lost the Dupont account because one of her gals would not pull up her skirt. She whispered to her, "Penny, we need this account. It's important for the firm, for our success." She added, "for your salary."

Penny looked Miss Holloway in the eye and whispered back, "What about your skirt?"

It was a rather bold challenge on Penny's part. A secretary at Sterling Cooper did not defy the Office Manager. However, it was not often that a secretary was being asked to raise her skirt and bare her panties. Actually, it did happen quite a bit, but always in respectful privacy of her boss' office.

Miss Holloway was momentarily speechless. But she knew that the Dupont account might be in the balance. She turned and smiled at the visiting executives, then turned her back to them, bent over, and raised her skirt up past her bottom, bearing before their eyes her round, and brightly green, tightly wrapped, bum.

Miss Holloway did feel a bit uncomfortable showing these men her pantied bottom. She had shown them close to the same thing only minutes earlier, but that was different. That had been entirely her own idea, and it had only been a brief, a very brief, flirtation. This was now much more. This was considerably more blatant, perhaps even obscene.

Penny knew that she really couldn't refuse now. If she didn't do it Miss Holloway would be assigning her all of the contract typing, which was really the most boring of all the secretarial work. She closed her eyes, in fact squeezed them shut, groaned, and reached down to pull her skirt up higher, even high enough to reveal the beginning of her panties. She wondered if Mr. Crane might give her a spanking later in the day, when he heard what she had in fact done.

It wasn't much but it was perhaps the best part: the first sign of her panties was the first sign of her cunt, a very soft white cushiony pouch peeking out beneath her skirt. And, Penny's panties were perhaps the sexiest of them all, as they were a sheer silky white lace, so sheer that one could make out a wispy sight of what seemed like her feminine lips. The panties were a wonderful match to her stockings, as these were the panties of a bride, one trying to be as virtuous and sexy as she could for her new hubby on their wedding night. Instead, though, she was being as sexy as she could be for the visiting executives from Dupont.

It was the men's turn to be momentarily silent, or more precisely, stunned. Posing before them were three very attractive secretaries, all with their skirts raised: Babs and Penny showing them their lovely feminine pouches: one pink, one white; Miss Holloway showing them her bright green, womanly rounded rump, with her cute little pouch peeking out as well.

Mr. Grundleman broke the silence. "Yes, Mr. Draper, I think I do like this proposal. I like it very much: 'If only skirts were shorter.' Yes, yes, it is quite catchy and does have an appeal." He was speaking to Mr. Draper, but his eyes were focused elsewhere. "Do you really think it will work?"

"Of course it will. 'After all, it is a Dupont.' Miss Holloway, please, why don't you get the good faith contracts."

Miss Holloway stood up, feeling quite grateful to be able to do so, although smiling at their success, her success, in landing the contract, and smiling a bit as well at what she had just done. After all, bending over for the executives wasn't all bad. Skirts were indeed really awfully long.

Babs and Penny kept their skirts up as Miss Holloway retrieved the good faith contracts from Mr. Draper's desk. One did not want the gentlemen to become distracted, to lose their motivation at the last moment. Babs in fact strolled around the table to provide each of the men fresh cigarettes, as well as a closer look at her Dupont stockings, and her pink panties. "Your nylons are so silky smooth, Mr. Dupont," she said flirtatiously. "Here, touch them, feel for yourself."

Mr. Grundleman did so. His company's stockings never felt so nice, so lovely, stretched across the young lady's equally smooth thighs. In fact, out of the eye sight of the other men, which wasn't easy as most eyes were turned toward Babs, he snuck his fingers up higher and lightly touched Babs' even softer and sweeter cunnie mound.


Ad Men



"Mr. Dupont!" Babs squealed, feigning protest.

Penny kept her ground. She was not about to submit herself to being groped and mauled by these dirty, horny men. She would pull her skirt up, but she would not do that. She did have her limit.

Upon Miss Holloway's return, Mr. Grundleman signed the contract.

Normally, they would stand and toast, but the executives from Dupont preferred to remain seated, at least for awhile. Mr. Draper, and the secretaries, understood. Miss Holloway, however, did pour each man a stiff scotch on the rocks, helping them to reduce their owns stiffness. It helped even more that the secretaries departed once the contract was signed. They had done their job, and they had done it very well..

Mr. Draper was pleased. In fact, he was very, very pleased. His original proposal had been, 'Comfort, at no extra cost.' 'If only skirts were shorter,' proved to be tremendously better. Miss Holloway, Babs, and Penny all received extremely handsome bonuses upon the arrival of the first payment of the new contract.

The other secretaries crowded around the three girls as they showed off their lucrative rewards. Babs never felt more pleased and proud, and vowed to contribute even further if she was ever given another opportunity. Even Penny was actually quite happy about it. The other secretaries were jealous, very jealous indeed.

All of the secretaries immediately became more actively involved in the company's affairs, offering various suggestions for campaigns, for product slogans. If another chance like this arose, they would not be left out.

Mr. Draper was at first just amused by their excited engagement, but he also realized that their participation, their enthusiasm, could be quite useful in landing future accounts.. And, besides, many of their suggested slogans were actually quite good. Who would have thought that such brilliant ideas could come out of the minds of such pretty faces, shapely legs, and jutting pointy breasts.

Sterling Cooper was now onto something, onto something big, something very big. They could take advertising in a new and very exciting direction, and with the success of the Dupont "mini skirt" campaign, Sterling Cooper was not at a loss for new clients seeking their assistance.

THE MAIDENFORM ACCOUNT

The next significant opportunity came from Maidenform. Maidenform produced all forms of ladies' undergarments, but their best selling product line was the brassiere.

Maidenform was not a company that desperately needed any help. After all, Marilyn Monroe had been wearing one of the Maidenform pointy brassieres in the 1959 movie, "Some Like It Hot." That one memorable scene alone provided tremendous publicity, and sold many brassieres, at no advertising cost. Actually, that wasn't entirely true. Quite a bit of green crossed hands to get the producers to provide the product placement of Maidenform on Marilyn's breasts.

Nevertheless, Maidenform was not a company to rest on its laurels and they had lost quite a bit of business to Playtex with their "I can't believe it's a girdle, girdle"campaign. They needed to strike back.

Mr. Draper met the CEO of Maidenform in front of their building and rode with him up the elevator to the Sterling and Cooper office suite.

As they rode the elevator, Maidenform's Mr. Bradley expressed his interest in doing a deal with Sterling Cooper. "We were very excited to see what you did for Dupont, and we were naturally wondering what you might have in mind for us, at Maidenform."

"I believe we have something that you will find very exciting, Mr. Bradley," Mr. Draper replied. "We, sirs, we at Sterling Cooper, have a dream, a dream for the future, and we dream big. Once you step off the elevator, you will see our dream for Maidenform."

Mr. Bradley was intrigued.

When they reached their floor, Mr. Draper let Mr. Bradley step off first, to be greeted by the sight of the Sterling Cooper receptionist, sitting at her desk beneath the company logo. The strikingly pretty girl greeted him pleasantly and politely, as any receptionist would, and said with a broad, sincere smile, "Good morning, Mr. Bradley. I dreamed I came to work in my Maidenform bra," which she apparently had done, quite obviously so.

Mr. Bradley's jaw dropped. This very pretty lady, with her short wavy brunette hair, her dimpled cheeks, sparkling eyes, and bright red lips, was not wearing a blouse. She was, like, half naked, right out there in public, sitting there in her brassiere, at the receptionist's desk. This was indeed quite a reception. What kind of a place was this? He turned to Mr. Draper, feeling rather stunned.

"Do you like it, Mr. Bradley?" Mr. Draper asked, smiling proudly.

"Well, I, um." He didn't know what to say. Of course he liked it. What man wouldn't like having receptionists without blouses? She looked in fact rather stunning. There was really something provocatively pleasing, stimulating, even quite wonderful, about the incongruity of her sitting there, her brassiere fully exposed in public, her boobs tightly wrapped in lacy cups, yet she was pleasantly smiling, as if she found it perfectly reasonable and natural not to be wearing a blouse to hide her brassiere. He finally mustered, "Yes, yes, I do."

"This is our proposed campaign, sir," Mr. Draper explained, as he guided Mr. Bradley through the large wood doors into the offices of Sterling Cooper, where they were greeted by the sight of the expansive secretarial pool in their many cubicles, as well as going hither and yon, delivering memos, retrieving files, and all without their blouses, all of them wearing just a brassiere! Hanging from the ceiling was a banner, which read, "I dreamed I came to work in my Maidenform bra."

It was a staggeringly lovely sight: an astounding garden of breasts. They were still hidden, of course, by brassieres, but it was still so discordantly, absurdly, delightful, all these women, every one of them, exhibiting, displaying her unmentionables, all for the pleasure, all for the titillation, of the men around them, and, apparently, especially, for him, the CEO of Maidenform. It was like he was in the women's section of J.C. Penny, or perhaps even Bloomingdales, with all of the half-dressed (or half-undressed) mannequins coming alive. Mr. Bradley's dick quickly swelled in his pants.

Mr. Bradley, as CEO of Maidenform, had certainly seen some of their own models posing in Maidenform brassieres. It was one of the natural perks of being the CEO of a brassiere company. He should, naturally, look in on initial photo shoots.

However, those girls had all been professional models. There was something more wondrous, marvelous, and pleasing to have them be everyday secretaries, doing their everyday tasks, yet showing off their brassieres, and the breasts that were just beneath the soft, thin, and at times even lacy cotton. Yes, his dick was very pleased to be in this wonderful garden of round and pointy delights, the round, puffy, pointy flowers in all sorts of sizes and in many different colors. There were pink breasts, white breasts, green breasts, red breasts, and even some flesh toned breasts.

As Mr. Bradley proceeded across the open space of cubicles each secretary he passed would smile sweetly, even flirtatiously, repeating the mantra in various forms, like, "Hello Mr. Bradley, I dreamed I was typing in my Maidenform Bra," "Hello sir, I dreamed I delivered a memo in my Maidenform bra," or "Good morning, Mr. Bradley, I dreamed I typed his memo in my Maidenform bra."

His dick rapidly grew in his slacks. It was simply impossible for that not to happen, although he wasn't even entirely aware of it happening. His mind, his eyes, were so fully absorbed. Mr. Draper tried to get his attention, which wasn't easy, as there were so many lovely distractions. Some were large and haughty, others were petite and modest, perhaps even shy, but they were all terribly firm, prominent, and well shaped, which was a source of pride for Maidenform, for the secretaries, and for Mr. Bradley.

Mr. Draper took his arm to direct his attention. "Along the wall, sir, you will see our campaign. It's the common theme, but with many variations."

Mr. Bradley tore his eyes away from the ladies' lovely tits to the posters along the walls, where there were again women with no blouses. They were otherwise fully dressed. Their brassieres, their Maidenform brassieres, were fully exposed. And, they were apparently dreaming of doing all sorts of things: riding a roller coaster, going shopping, riding a streetcar, playing in a recital, dancing at a nightclub, all in their Maidenform bras.

He felt like he was himself in a dream, and almost collided with a couple of really large breasts: the boobs of Babs.

"I dreamed I served him coffee in my Maidenform bra," she gaily announced. "Would you like some coffee, sir?"

Babs' breasts were particularly spectacular. Mr. Bradley knew his product well, and he could tell that these were a 38C. "Uh, yeah, yeah, I guess I would."

She smiled in appreciation. "How wonderful." She took Mr. Bradley by the hand and led him away from Mr. Draper to the office kitchenette. "My dream fulfilled," she said to him, with a very flirtatious gleam in her eye.

Frankly, she hardly needed to act flirtatious. Missing her blouse was plenty flirtatious enough. Mr. Draper now became more aware, more self-conscious, about his erection. He surely hoped that this wonderfully endowed young lady, her breasts jiggling within her brassiere, would not notice. He was certainly glad to be momentarily separated from Mr. Draper, providing him with some time to regain his composure.

"Do you like Mr. Draper's idea, Mr. Bradley?" Babs asked as she led him along.

"Well yes, yes, I must say I do." Of course, though, he couldn't, nor wouldn't, really disagree with a pretty blouse-less, large breasted secretary, leading him along by the hand, or more accurately by his erection. How wonderful if saleswomen within a men's department would be dressed this way. His wallet would soon empty if all saleswomen came to work in their Maidenform bras. Yet, it did indeed sound like a good campaign slogan; sexy, but playful, innocently playful.

"Oh we're so glad, Mr. Bradley," she said. "We do so much enjoy wearing your brassieres and, of course," she added, a twinkle in her eye, "showing them off. All the girls do."

Babs' voice broke his reverie, his fantasy of being in such a world, returning him to the reality that there was indeed a half-dressed woman leading him by the hand. "Yes, yes, I can see that."

Babs was not being entirely honest. Some of the girls had been quite reluctant to remove their blouses, perhaps understandably so. Management felt that it was perhaps because their breasts were a bit on the small side. They went out of their way to be complimentary of even the small ones. Still, a couple of the larger breasted women were also reluctant as well. They were uncomfortable with the leering eyes, lascivious grins, and off-color humor. But, they soon appreciated that it was all for the good of the company and, if the presentation was to work, it had to be unanimous. So, one by one, each lovely secretary removed her blouse, many of them blushing as they did so. It was an unwrapping that rivaled any birthday present, at least for the men.

There was something undeniably sexy in having one's secretary type memos in her brassiere. It was really quite amazing how much breast wiggle was generated simply by typing. It was truly a shame to have that hidden behind some blouse. For some reason, executives more frequently monitored their assistants' work by looking over their shoulders. Perhaps more typos would occur when the ladies were distracted by not wearing their blouses.

The secretaries did acknowledge that their typing initially suffered when their blouses were removed, but they attributed this to the distraction of their bosses peering over their shoulders, and down into their brassieres. Still, they did all receive very nice bonuses.

Babs though was sincere when speaking for herself. And, as she led Mr. Bradley to the kitchenette she felt more comfortable, more at ease, more in her realm, doing what she did best, impressing a successful businessman one-on-one. "Your brassieres are so comfortable, and, well, flattering," she said, with a pleasant, engaging smile, arching her back to emphasize her point, or more accurately, her prominently pointing boobs.

She led him into the little kitchenette, let go of his hand, and turned to face him, her breasts just inches from his chest.

"This fits me so well, don't you think, Mr. Bradley?" She stepped back to provide him with a better view of her brassiere or, more accurately, her really large tits dressed only in a brassiere.

He did indeed feel that the fit was quite spectacular, although he was, of course, a bit biased, being the head of the company. He swallowed nervously. A cup of coffee would be good right now. Actually, even a drink of water would be good. He just nodded in response.

"And, it provides so much support." She stepped up closer to him and leaned forward, pressing her soft, full breasts into his chest and whispered, "I am a bit on the full figure size."

Mr. Bradley considered stepping back, giving her more room, but he was already leaning back against a counter and, besides, his discomfort at the awkwardness of her physical proximity, her contact, was more than offset by the pleasure provided by her prominent protuberances, "Oh, well, um, we can fit any size."

She pressed her breasts even harder into his chest and whispered directly into his ear, "So can I, Mr. Bradley," as she reached down and lightly danced her fingers along his bulge.

Mr. Bradley's dick swelled at that. No woman had ever spoke so boldly to him before.

Babs smiled flirtatiously, looking knowingly into his eyes. This was no bedroom. It wasn't even a hotel room. It was the office kitchenette. But, it was still private, or at least partially so. It had no door and it opened onto a section of the secretarial pool. Any of the girls within that section of the pool could see them, if they looked in their direction. For the moment, however, Babs was alone with the executive, and she could now perform for Mr. Bradley as she had performed so often for Mr. Draper and other powerful, successful businessmen. She softly squeezed his bulge.

Mr. Bradley shifted a bit to the side in confusion and embarrassment. "Yes, well, excuse me." He clasped his hands in front of himself, trying to nonchalantly hide his obvious state of excitement. He was rather nonplussed by the secretary's immodest audacity, and he did not feel as alone or private as Babs apparently felt. If any of the girls in that area happened to look over, they would easily see his hardness, and her rather bold behavior.

Babs became even more imprudent. Mr. Draper had lectured that a good advertising executive must know when it's right to strike, to go for the client's jugular or, in this case, his crotch. Babs reached behind her, jutting her breasts out even farther as she did so, if that was at all possible, and unsnapped her brassiere. "You see, Mr. Bradley," she explained as she slowly pulled the straps from her shoulders, and then the cups from her breasts. She warned him, "My bosoms do fall a bit."

They did indeed, but he could hardly consider it to be a real problem. Babs had natural, full breasts, and they lost a bit of shape without the brassiere. They were drooping down. In their natural state they were now more oblong than round, but they were nevertheless so very lusciously full and large. Any loss in shape was more than compensated for by the fact that they were now stark naked! Big, natural, wiggly, bubbly, bulbous boobs; really very wonderful.

These were the breasts one would want to just fall into: two huge soft pillows that would engulf his head, his face, his lips, eyes and mouth, and certainly his cock, in such salaciously squishy, squashy, spongy shlobes. Oh, to just imagine sliding his cock in and out of those sensational, stupendous, humongous slippery soft melons.

"Here, Mr. Bradley," she said, interrupting his private reverie. His eyes, his mind, were so fixed on those lovingly naked full tits. "Feel them. Feel how big they are."

She didn't have to ask him twice. He lost all realization of the fact that he was in the kitchenette of a New York downtown office suite, fully exposed to any secretary that happened to be standing in the right location. Mr. Draper, and his colleagues, were apparently waiting for him in a boardroom to present their campaign. But, the only thing on his mind was what was in his hands: the two large, squishy boobs of... He just realized. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

"Babs," Mr. Bradley. "My name is Babs," smiling sweetly as he grasped, fondled, and felt her boobs.

He felt his face grow warm as he replied, "Your breasts are really amazing, Babs." They felt so large, too large to fully grasp, too large to fully appreciate.

"Well, thank you, Mr. Bradley. You're so kind." She smiled, seeing that she was successfully hooking the client on her bait.

He couldn't bring himself to let go.

"Aren't they so squeezably soft?" That had been one of Babs' suggestions to Mr. Draper, for another account. He said he would think about it. Somehow, though, they would have to tie in Babs' breasts with toilet paper, and he wasn't so sure that they could pull that off.

"Yes, yes they are, Boobs. Babs! Yes, they are, Babs. Well, yes, they are boobs, Babs, yes, um, soft." Mr. Draper stumbled through his words, feeling quite embarrassed by his very indelicate errors, his face turning a deep red.

Babs though was not offended. On the contrary, she found it rather flattering, or at least it was pleasing to hear that he was indeed enjoying her product. She smiled playfully and said, "Babs' boobs: once you start, you just can't stop."

They did indeed feel terribly wonderful. He had never felt boobs this big before. There was so much to them, so many sweet curves to squeeze, fondle, and caress. And, her nipples were so large, so stiff, so pointy. He felt such an urge to suck them, to suckle them. His cock strained in his pants, yearning to break free, pining to be engulfed, to be nurtured, embraced, mothered, and engulfed by such bountiful breasts.

But, Babs stepped back, her breasts wiggling and bobbling as she did so. She bent forward and they seemed to get even bigger, as if they were filling up as they hung from her body like a mother's udders. She slid the cups of her, of his, brassiere over them, stood back up, and reached behind her to redo the brassiere strap. "See, now they're back standing up again, so round, even perky. Don't you think?"

It was a very nice transformation. He did make a very fine product.

"I just love what Maidenform has done for me."

But, he did notice one thing. Maidenform was known for their pointy brassieres, which was really very nice in accentuating the presence of the breasts, in calling attention to them. But, the points of the brassieres did have a tendency to hide the natural points, the real points, of Babs' nipples. He would have to get back to their design team about that.

"Now, let's get you that coffee," Babs said, reaching for the decanter of fresh Maxwell House. "How do you like it?"

"Excuse me? Oh, yes, yes, black, thank you." The reality of why he had come to Sterling Cooper swept back into his consciousness, as well as the fact that he had been handling the naked breasts of a secretary, in open sight of a few other secretaries, albeit ones in comparable undress. "Yes, of course, certainly. I shouldn't keep Mr. Draper and his colleagues waiting."

"Oh, but sir, we can't have you walking around the office with your manliness sticking out, though, could we?"




Ad Men



His face reddened further. He appreciated that she was apparently not offended by his indiscretion, but her calling attention to it did make him feel more uncomfortable. "Oh my goodness, yes, yes." He would at times get hard-ons at work, at least when he took a brief moment to enjoy a Playboy hidden deep within his desk drawer. He often wondered if his secretary came across it. He would keep it well buried, but some days he felt that her morning smile expressed an amusement, a knowledge of a dirty secret, as well as an hello. In any case, after a brief consideration of the Girls of Hollywood, he would have to stay behind his desk for awhile. He would never parade it around the office.

"Well, never you mind your busy mind, Mr. Bradley. Let me take care of that pesky rascal." She handed him a mug of steaming hot coffee and slipped down onto her knees before the CEO. "After all, it was really my fault, wasn't it, sir."

That was a good point.

She smiled up at him as she began to undo his trousers. "I dreamed I performed oral sex in my Maidenform bra."

He did have to smile at that, although it was unlikely to be included in the campaign. But, here? "Right here? In the kitchenette?"

"No one will come in, sir, trust me," she said, as she reached into his slacks, feeling around his boxers, and his stiff erection, for the flap, for the point of entry. "The girls have all gotten their coffee for the morning. Nobody will come in here until lunch. Everyone is much too busy. Oh my goodness!" She exclaimed as she extracted his stiff cock.

Mr. Bradley glanced around in panic. The kitchenette was a small, narrow room, and they were fully alone, but any one of the girls he could see through the open entrance into the kitchenette would also easily observe his exposed erection. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as the pretty big-titted secretary handled his stiff, hard erect dick.

Mr. Bradley did not realize, however, that this had all been planned in advance, and the secretaries within sight of the kitchenette had been instructed to provide teasing glimpses, perhaps even ogling views, of their brassiere clad breasts, but to avoid actually looking into the kitchenette while Babs attempted to convince Mr. Bradley of the effectiveness of their pitch, their proposed campaign. The fate of the contract was now, quite literally, in Babs' hands, and soon will depend on her oratory, as well as oral skills.

"Mr. Bradley, I can see why you are such a terribly successful, powerful businessman. My goodness. You're just so awfully big."

Well, he was taking a pretty big chance here. It would not be good to be caught with his stiff cock sticking out in a company's headquarters. Surely that would make the evening news: the head of Maidenform caught exposing himself. He shifted over so that Babs was at least blocking a direct line of vision to his erect dick.

Babs, though, did not appear to be at all self-conscious or concerned. He wondered if perhaps once you become comfortable dressed only in your Maidenform, you become comfortable with quite a bit more?

She asked, "Do all the men at Maidenform have such big penises?"

It was a rather silly remark, to say the least, but rarely is flattery regarding one's cock perceived as being silly, particularly when it is from a pretty lady who is fondly fondling it.

"I really wouldn't know, dear," he modestly replied.

Babs smiled. "Well, of course not. How silly of me. It's not like all you big powerful executives show each other your penises or anything. Goodness. I can be so stupid sometimes."

He patted her on the head reassuringly. "That's alright, dear."

She looked up at him. "You know, sir. I'm not a bad girl or anything. I don't do this sort of thing all the time, you know."

"Oh, I know. I know." He was thinking though that she really should get moving before anyone came in.

"You won't tell Mr. Draper, will you?"

"Of course not."

"I could get into a whole lot of trouble." Mr. Draper though knew full well what she was doing. He had asked if anyone would be willing to volunteer, and Babs was the first to raise her hand. She wasn't Mr. Draper's secretary for nothing.

Mr. Bradley, though, was more concerned about the trouble he could get into, and his desire to get those luscious pink lips wrapped around his cock.

"But, I just can't help myself around such a big, manly penis." She continued to admire it, lightly drawing her fingers up and down its length. "It's so stout, and stiff, and tall."

She looked up at him, past his thrusting cock, into his eyes, as he looked down at hers, and her lips. "I don't think I could get one as big as this in me."

That was perhaps pushing it, but advertisers rarely understated the value of their clients' products.

"I'm going to have to really open up my mouth wide to get this thing in," and with that she leaned forward on her knees and slipped the head of the CEO's dick into her mouth.

It actually wasn't at all difficult for her to absorb, and her pleasure in tasting him was immediately apparent. "Mmm mm good. Mmm mm good," she said through the cock stuffed into her mouth, releasing it briefly to add, smiling sweetly up at him, "Mr. Bradley's cock is mmm mm good," and then returned the engorged, bulbous head of his dick back into her mouth. A girl who liked the taste of cock better than Campbell's soup was a pretty darned good girl. She began to wash and caress the smooth, soft, swollen bulb with her tongue.

It was true that Babs did not do this for any guy, but she had done it more than a few times and she did like doing it. She did it a lot for Mr. Draper. He could get so tense sometimes. A secretary's job wasn't just a matter of taking dictation and retrieving memos. Advertising was a very competitive, very stressful business, and sometimes Mr. Draper just needed some relief, a moment of blissful distraction from the pressures of the job, and Babs was quite happy to provide it.

"Mmmmm," she moaned again, delighting in the feel, the taste, of this thick, bulbous dick in her mouth. She had been a bit over the top in her flattery of Mr. Bradley, but he did have a very nice, thick, tasty cock. It was perhaps not quite as good as Mr. Draper's, but she doubted that she would ever find another cock as good as his. Still, Mr. Bradley's did feel so good in her mouth. There was something that was just so right about having a cock in her mouth, about giving a powerful man pleasure in this very special way. She might not herself be able to lead a powerful company, but she could make that leader a very, very happy man.

She dove down into her task with considerable gusto.

She licked and lapped her tongue all around and around the head of Mr. Bradley's dick, and it was Mr. Bradley's turn to moan with pleasure. He leaned back against the kitchenette counter and softly, subtly thrust his hips forward and back, gently sliding his cock in and out of the pretty secretary's pink lips.

Yes, it was a little risky. Perhaps really risky. But, actually, the riskiness of it also made it more exciting. He gazed out over the secretarial pool, at all of the lovely ladies in their pointy Maidenform bras, as he felt the head of his dick being caressed and washed in the mouth of Babs. He was really beginning to appreciate the playfulness, the delightfulness, of the Sterling Cooper proposal. His eyes caught the sight of one poster in particular. It read, "I took the bull by the horn in my Maidenform bra," as the brassiere clad maiden was grasping hold of a bull's horn as Babs took hold of his, stroking her fist up and down his cock all the while continuing to suck and lick the head.

Yes, this was an excellent idea for a campaign. Really, really good. It just felt so right, so intensely good, so very inspiring.

Babs then began to meet the gentle thrusting of the executive's hips with a more forceful bobbing of her head, fucking his cock with her face, sliding her lips up and down the shaft along with her fist, the kitchenette now filled with the slurping and slapping sounds of her sloppy suck.

He was going to cum. He could feel the building surge, the sense of the inevitable, the moment before the profound release. His eyes glazed over as he met the eyes of one of the secretaries within the pool, who just smiled at him in her white, pointy brassiere and blew him a kiss.

Out popped his cock. Babs again smiled up at him, looking this time though a little flushed and out of breath, her pink lips and chin shining with moisture. "Does she or doesn't she, Mr. Bradley?"

Mr. Bradley was out of breath as well, his balls straining, longing, panting. "Excuse me?"

"I bet you're wondering, does she or doesn't she?"

Mr. Bradley had indeed been wondering, although it wasn't about hair color.

Babs would have to admit that her question had been an ad proposal of Miss Holloway's, not her. "Well, she does, Mr. Bradley," Babs said, as she continued to stroke his cock. "She swallows." Her sky blue eyes twinkled as she said it, and as she saw his eyes light up at the idea. "I like it. I like it when a man shoots his hot sticky cum in my mouth and on my face." Her stroking became more urgent, more rapid, more pressured. "I like it anywhere you want to squirt it. You just give me all the manly frosting you want, anywhere you want." She leaned her head back and opened her mouth up wide.

"Oooooh," Betsy said, as she strode into the kitchenette with Pam, each holding a largely empty coffee cup. "It looks like we got here just in time." They had decided they needed a refresher. They knew they were defying Mr. Draper's instructions, but they just didn't want to be left out and, besides, maybe they could in fact be of some assistance.

Mr. Bradley's heart leaped into his mouth, which fell open in silent shock.

"Mr. Bradley," Pam added, "Are you going to squirt that nasty thing all over Babs' pretty little face?"

Babs shut her mouth on Mr. Bradley's cock, a look of concern washed over her face. She liked performing for men, especially powerful men, but only in private. She was not used to this. She paused, the man's cock lodged in her mouth as Betsy and Pam strode over to the coffee decanter.

Mr. Bradley was even more concerned. "Oh my! It's not what you think!" Although it clearly was. His knees were buckling with fright and the urge to cum.

"Relax, Mr. Bradley," Pam said, as she poured herself some coffee. Her brassiere was low cut with considerable cleavage, providing a rather nice view of the tops of her breasts jiggling as she filled the cup in her hand. "In fact, maybe you can provide the cream. We just have that Pream Cream. I much prefer a thicker, tasty, masculine cream." She held out her mostly filled cup to Mr. Bradley as she handed the carafe to Betsy.

"Oh yes," Betsy added, "Please do. I like lots of cream in my coffee." Betsy wore one of the more traditional pointy bras, although it was quite lacy and snug fitting.

Mr. Bradley had panicked when the two secretaries first came in, his worst fear of being discovered now becoming realized. But, he was now not only relieved, he was inspired, inspired by the fact that not only was one pretty secretary waiting, wanting, urging him to gush his spunk into her mouth and onto her face, the bulb of his cock lodged within her pretty lips, her tongue pressing against his crown, there were now two others who wanted to watch and to receive his seed. His cock regained its strength, its desire, and his balls cocked back to try again.

"Besides, Mr. Bradley," Betsy said, as she poured out her coffee, "I've always dreamed of watching a man cum on my Maidenform Bra."

Babs resumed stroking and licking his cock, her big round eyes staring longingly into his, her breasts heaving in a yearning desire to receive his seed.

Mr. Bradley's heart rate accelerated, his head felt faint, and his eyes misted over as he felt the surge of cum drive up his shaft and burst out his cock, splatting somewhere deep down into Babs' mouth.

"Hmmmmm," Babs sighed as she felt Mr. Bradley's cum slide past her tongue and splash in a deep back corner of her mouth. It was too late now for any lingering doubts about the presence of the two other ladies and, besides, they were all now washed away by the cleansing fluid of Mr. Bradley's cum.

She licked at the glob lodged deep in her mouth, enjoying his manly flavor, as further spits and gobs shot forth into her mouth. She quickly pulled her face away though so that she could receive a good portion on her face. She knew he would like that. Miss Holloway had suggested that powerful, successful executives always seemed to like to cum on your face, and Babs fully respected the Office Manager's sage advice.

Mr. Bradley braced himself with his hands on the counter and watched with deep pleasure, with orgasmic satisfaction, as his dick twitched and jerked in her hand, squirting ropes and wads onto her smiling face.

"Oh my, Mr. Bradley, when it rains and pours," exclaimed Betsy.

"Shot from guns," Pam added.

He could not help but think how very compelling ad slogans seemed to be pouring from these girls' mouths as the gism gushed from his cock, splashing and spraying onto Babs' face. Perhaps his cum was inspiring them? In any case, this was indeed a very talented and creative ad agency.

Babs became thoroughly drenched. It might indeed be true that CEOs have the largest balls, or perhaps it was simply that Mr. Bradley had not cum in quite some time, being deprived by a rather disinterested wife. Well, whatever the reason, it was all good for Babs, and very much appreciated. She did so much like the taste of manly cum, particularly the cum of rich, successful businessmen, and Mr. Bradley was everything of that, plus more.

It was by far one of the nicest, richest, and most satisfying orgasms Mr. Bradley had ever had, with one girl taking it in her mouth and on her face, while two other pretty ladies watched with gleeful pleasure, even clapping, dressed in their stunning brassieres: the pride and joy of Maidenform and Mr. Bradley.

A man likes being admired. Mr. Bradley always enjoyed it when his wife would watch him play golf, admiring his skill, his athleticism, the strength and accuracy of his shots. But, there was something so much more fundamentally satisfying to have pretty ladies admire your cum shot. He gave himself over to base pride and the primal pleasure sweeping over him as he gushed and splatted his cum all over Babs' face. It seemed to go on forever, much to his satisfaction, and to theirs.

When he was done Betsy held out her coffee mug beneath Babs' face and caught two rather large globs as they dripped off her chin. "Hmmm," she said as she brought the mug to her nose. "Such a rich, deep aroma. Everything you love about coffee." His mind was confused, but he could swear he had heard that before.

Babs scooped off a few globs for herself and, while smiling up at Mr. Bradley, she licked her fingers clean. "Finger lickin' good, Mr. Bradley." He had not heard that before, but it sounded nice.

Pam slid a finger along Babs' cheek to get her own serving and then let it drip into her mug. She took a sip and said, "The best part of waking up is Mr. Bradley's cum in your cup."

Mr. Bradley was duly impressed with the ability of Mr. Draper's so very gifted, talented, and lovely staff to generate so many good ideas. This was indeed a very impressive ad agency. He would have to give them his most serious consideration, once he was able to catch his breath.

Babs used her hand to squeeze out the remaining gism from Mr. Bradley's cock into her mouth and said, smiling up at him through her cum splattered face, "Good to the last drop."

Needless to say, Sterling Cooper landed the contract. They were well on their way to winning this year's Clio, and to even bigger, better, more innovative campaigns.

THE NATIONAL AIRLINES ACCOUNT

Sterling Cooper was not always successful. They had approached the Borden's Milk Company with a proposal to have young attractive wives appear with splashes of creamy milk on their faces, some of it dripping off of their noses and chins. Each would just say, smiling into the camera, "Got Milk?" But, for some reason, the potential client didn't go for it. Perhaps the double entendre was too obvious.

Sterling Cooper though was not deterred. They just felt that they were ahead of the times, in front of the game.

Their next client was a challenge. It was an airline, National Airlines to be more precise. What was particularly sexy about air travel? They considered many options, like 'Fly the friendly skies of National,' "We have to earn our wings every day,' ' We never forget you have a choice,' and 'We love to fly. And it shows.' But, none of these seemed particularly appealing or catchy. Plus, they just didn't have the mark of a Sterling Cooper campaign.

And, then, naturally, Mr. Draper had an inspiration.

It would require a further demonstration of the dedication, the resolve, of the secretarial pool. But, he had faith in their investment in the success and future of Sterling Cooper. Their future was Sterling Cooper's future, and the future of Sterling Cooper rested on their shoulders, or at least on their breasts, and, of course, their mouths, and then perhaps somewhere else as well.

The agency was a titter with anticipation for the arrival of Mr. Dudley Swim, the CEO of National Airlines. A lot of effort had been given to their presentation, and his reception.

When Mr. Swim stepped off the elevator he was greeted by the sight of facsimiles of the top halves of two bomber nose cones, one on each side of the reception's desk, each capped by large knobs. Their resemblance to a particular anatomy of a woman was quite inescapable.

They were indeed bomber nose cones, for painted on each was an enticing airbrush pin-up girl. One girl was dressed in a long flowing, and revealing, pink nightgown, the other in a green baby doll. The paintings were really quite nice. Mr. Swim smiled. He had always enjoyed airbrush pin-ups. Most every man of his generation would, and did, smile at the sight of "Bomber Babes."

Mr. Draper offered Mr. Swim a Luck Strike and explained, "One component of our proposed campaign will be to have the nose cones of your larger passenger jets be decorated by traditional bomber art."

Mr. Swim was intrigued. He nodded in approval, but he did have a rather significant concern. He declined the cigarette (not a good sign for Mr. Draper) and responded, "Aren't they a bit provocative, I mean, sexually, you know? I mean, well, many of our flights include mothers and their children. This isn't the Air Force anymore, you know. It's not just men who will be riding these planes."

Mr. Draper pursued his pitch. "National Airlines garnered considerable PR in the war by providing a portion of its fleet for the Air Transport Command, as well as operating Air Corps contract schools for pilots, mechanics, radio operators and navigators. I would in fact suggest commissioning some of the original bomber artists to provide the artwork. Who would object to that? You would only be embracing your patriotic history."

It was a compelling argument but Mr. Swim was not convinced. He furrowed his brow.

Mr. Draper took a long drag on his cigarette and pursed his pitch. "In addition, women will be directly and explicitly involved in this campaign. They will not be ignored. More specifically, the models will not be professionals, there only because of their attractiveness, perhaps only because they were being paid. The models will in fact be your own stewardesses!" He turned toward one of the two nose cones and called out, "Joan, Babs, if you would."

Each of the two ladies appeared from behind her corresponding cone. Joan was dressed, or more accurately, undressed, in the flowing pink nightgown that was depicted on her nose cone, and Babs in her cone's green baby doll. The CEO's eyes widened in shock, and pleasure.




Ad Men



Joan's large breasts notably jiggled beneath her nightgown, and her nipples were equally evident, poking out like a couple of bullets. Her long straight red hair, rosy cheeks, ripe red lips, and long shapely legs were complimented very well by the flowing white nightgown. It was quite evident that she wasn't wearing a brassiere, and Mr. Swim's cock swelled in appreciation.

Babs was perhaps even more provocative, as one could actually see her breasts through the diaphanous baby doll. He barely noticed how strikingly elegant and attractive she was, as his eyes were initially fixed on her breasts, which were essentially naked. They were not as thrusting or pointy as they normally appeared, sans the Maidenform brassiere. But, she did clearly have very lovely, full white breasts. He briefly tore his eyes away to consider her matching green bikini panties. They were mostly lace, but not at the spot that interested him most. He couldn't actually see her most feminine spot. Nevertheless, you could hardly call these outfits modest. His cock swelled further.

"Hello," Joan greeted him with a big smile. "I'm Joan, fly me!"

"And, I'm Babs, fly me!"

Mr. Swim would be most happy to "fly them," if he correctly understand the double entendre, but he doubted that they seriously could be suggesting that, could they?

They were indeed.

"This would be your new slogan," Mr. Draper boldly exclaimed. "Your ads will present a stewardess who will gaily proclaim, 'Fly me!' So, we are indeed representing the feminine perspective explicitly within the campaign. And, we are doing so in a manner that embraces, values, and promotes the hard-working female employees within your company and, I might add, providing them with additional financial compensation for the effort. In sum, your stewardesses will have a very prominent and forward position within the National Airlines campaign, going well beyond simply being stewardesses."

Joan and Babs thrust out their breasts to emphasize their prominent and forward role.

Mr. Swim, though, was very skeptical. "But, you're not really suggesting that our stewardesses dress like this, are you?" He wasn't entirely sure if he was actually against such a proposal. He wouldn't mind piloting the proposal on a private flight, within the corporate jet. But, he sorely doubted that National Airlines could actually implement such a change in uniform, or that any such apparel could in fact be even seriously considered. "Do you realize that our stewardesses are nurses, not fashion models and certainly not lingerie models." 

Mr. Draper smiled patiently. "Mr. Swim. All of the other airlines have long abandoned the hiring of nurses." Much of this shift had occurred during the second world war, due to the need for nurses in the armed forces. "You are rapidly losing ground to Braniff and Southwest, who are indeed emphasizing appearance, as well as skill, for their stewardesses. We suggest you take this one natural step further and get out in front of the game, ahead of the pack."

Mr. Swim did appreciate the point. It was perhaps a natural progression and he was at Sterling Cooper precisely for their unique and innovative perspective. "But, still, stewardesses wearing lingerie?"

Mr. Draper laughed as he put out his cigarette in the astray on the receptionist's desk. "Goodness, gracious, no, Mr. Swim. You misunderstood. We are not crazy nuts here at Sterling Cooper."

The girls giggled as well at the absurdity of dressing this way in coach, their breasts jiggling with their amusement.

Mr. Draper lit up another cigarette. "We suggest that you offer this stewardess service only within the First Class section."

"You're serious?"

"Oh yes, yes. Pan Am now dominates air travel, due in no small part to being the first to offer first class service back in the 1950s. National Airlines can make up considerable ground on Pan Am, and pass Southwest and Braniff, by making this further advance in First Class travel."

"Well, I'm not so sure we want to make such distinctions. Comfort is our concern for all of our passengers. Plenty of leg room, hot meals, and cool drinks throughout the flight for all of our passengers, first class and coach. 'When you ride National Airlines, you ride in comfort.' That's been our slogan."

"Well, consider as well the current slogan of Braniff Airlines: 'When you got it, flaunt it,' and they don't mean the comfortable seating."

Mr. Swim understood. He had ridden Braniff, checking out the competition, and it was very clear what Braniff meant by that slogan. 

"These girls are taking the next great step in steward service. But, naturally, Mr. Swim, naturally, I understand. While your First Class passengers are being pampered and coddled by Babs and Joan, we suggest the following uniform for the coach class." He turned back to the cones. "Penny, if you could, let's present to Mr. Swim the future coach stewardess of National Airlines."

Penny stepped out from behind a nose cone. "Hello, I'm Penny, fly me!"

Penny was much more modestly dressed, at least to the extent that she wasn't wearing a negligee. She was wearing instead a very tight, plunging, white cotton tank top, with each breast capped by a propeller whose blades were like spokes radiating from the peaks of each jutting boob, and, in bold writing across the entire chest was the word, "PROPELLERS," emblazoned in orange capital letters. The letters appeared to cling to her breasts so tightly that they literally curved around them, accentuating the thrusting of the breasts.

The curvature was in fact a bit exaggerated, as the lettering would be curved even if the top was worn by a male. The inherent curvature within the lettering was helpful in conveying the impression that Penny's breasts were strikingly large, straining to burst through the tank top, even if they were not in fact abundantly developed. This was an important and useful innovation of the graphics design department of Sterling Cooper, as one did not want to discriminate against, or embarrass, the stewardesses who were not quite as well endowed.

It also helped that the tank tops were pulled tight across the chest and knotted in the back to maximize the snug capturing of the breasts, as well as to expose her tummy and belly button. And, finally, of course, it also helped that she was wearing one of the new uplift and deep plunging Maidenform brassieres.

The tank top was accompanied by short orange running shorts, panty hose, white scrunch socks, and white shoes.

The outfit was particularly engaging when worn by Penny. Ever since she received the bonus check for her help with the Dupont account, she was more than willing to contribute to future campaigns, and she appeared to be perfect for this particular presentation. Penny conveyed such pure innocence with her short dark hair, curly bangs, large and velvety brown eyes, sweet smile, violet lips, girlish dimples, and an elfin giggle. Yet, here she was, thrusting out her breasts in a manner that could provide only one possible impression. How could a cute girl like this appear, how could she be, so provocative? Mr. Bradley wanted so much to grab hold of his swollen dick.

Mr. Draper explained. "We were not suggesting, of course, that your coach class stewardesses actually wear nightgowns. We doubt that the general public will be ready for that. That would be reserved for the businessmen in first class. We suggest instead a uniform such as the one modeled here by Penny. You could call your stewardesses 'Propeller girls.' We also like, 'Hostesses in hot pants.'"

Mr. Swim was pleased with what he saw, but rather shocked. "You must be kidding! I mean, 'propellers,' across her, her, well, her..."

"My breasts, Mr. Swim?" Penny cheerfully finished his sentence. She clasped her hands behind her bottom and thrust her breasts out further. If that wasn't enough to draw his attention, she flirtatiously swung them back and forth. "Is there something wrong with my breasts?"

She did have the effect of flustering him, but as the CEO he also felt he had a valid concern. "Yes, well, yes, but I mean, isn't the innuendo here a bit too obvious and apparent? I mean, why not just call them 'Juggies,' or 'Headlights Girls,' or 'Hooters Girls.'"

"Well, actually, if you were selling cars, I think 'Headlight Girls,' would be a pretty good idea for the show-women. 'Juggies,' might be good for comedy television. I don't quite know how one could use 'Hooters,' though. It's not like anyone wants to buy an owl or something. I kind of think that would then be a bit too obvious. No, no, 'Propeller Girls,' is really quite fitting. It's kind of cute and playful, don't you think?"

Mr. Swim wasn't thinking too clearly at the moment, as his eyes were wandering to the three pairs of propellers of Joan, Babs, and Penny, imagining what it would be like for them to be stewardesses. "Yes, well." He shifted his briefcase to the front of him, as he realized that he cock was all powered-up. "You really do think the general public is ready for this?"

"Oh yes, yes, certainly. We're speaking to a family restaurant right now about a similar campaign. They're developing a spicy, saucy chicken wing. They apparently got it from this Anchor bar in upstate Buffalo. In any case, they want us to promote it, an they're quit taken with the uniform. I kind of like the brand name of simply "Wings," across the ladies breasts, as you would obviously think of the more popular part of the chicken."

'No way,' thought Mr. Swim. There is simply no way that a family restaurant would be staffed by waitresses dressed like this. Although, the stewardesses on Southwest Airlines were already wearing pretty skimpy outfits.

"Mr. Swim, if you implement our proposal, I guarantee that businessmen, which constitute 87% of current first class travelers, will flock to National Airlines. You might lose a few prudish female travelers, but you will more than gain from the additional men who will switch to your airline. You may even need to expand the first class cabin. Imagine this, if you would." He turned to the girls. "Joan, Babs, if you please."

Joan and Babs stepped up to Mr. Swim, one on each side, and wrapped their arms around his. "Hello, Mr. Swim," they said in unison. "Here, let us take you to your seat." Mr. Draper opened the large walnut doors into the offices of Sterling Cooper, and Joan and Babs led Mr. Swim inside.

He certainly did enjoy that, as their soft breasts were pressed against his arm, the engaging scent of their perfume wafted across his nose, their breasts jiggling and bouncing so sweetly. Yes, he really would have to give serious consideration to this proposal. Minimally, it needed at least a trial.

And, once he entered the office of Sterling Cooper, he was greeted by the sight of the secretaries all dressed in various nighties and undergarments.

It was like "PJ Friday," when everyone dressed up in their best pajamas. Management typically wore silk pajamas, mimicking the preferred garb of their masculine ideal, Hugh Hefner.

Many of the girls also wore pajamas on PJ Friday, although a few would use the opportunity as an excuse to be a bit, if not a lot, more flirtatious, wearing nightgowns, perhaps even a baby doll negligee. Management did not object. It was important to allow the secretaries to freely express themselves on PJ Friday. That was the whole purpose, to allow everyone to dress in a more comfortable, informal manner.

Well, today, the girls were all wearing negligees and undergarments, even many of the more modest and shy ones. Management had in fact been quite gracious in approving a request from the secretarial pool to cover the costs. So, the men went through a Frederick's of Hollywood catalogue and selected potential uniforms for each secretary. It turned out to be quite a bit of work, as they wanted to get just the right outfit for each girl.

And, they didn't just order an outfit and demand that she wear it. No, they let her try it on for them a number of different options to determine which suited each girl best. Some of the girls were a little apprehensive about trying on undies, panties, and baby dolls for the men at work. But, Mr. Slattery made it clear that no inappropriate lines would be crossed. None of the men would be allowed to touch the girls, at least when they were dressed in their undies. Some of the ladies then embraced the modeling, enjoying the fun of wiggling their titties at the ogling eyes, thrusting out their pink, rose, or green pantied bottoms. Of course, the gals were allowed to keep whatever garments were ordered, even the ones that management rejected. Mr. Slattery was very considerate and generous in that regard.

A few of the girls, however, remained concerned. Mr. Slattery indicated that Sterling Cooper would be seeking accounts that would require a comparable investment on the part of male employees, but that still didn't mollify some of the ladies. Somehow it didn't quite seem an equal exchange. In the end, the girls who remained reluctant were allowed to stay home the day Mr. Swim arrived. Mr. Slattery did not want to coerce secretaries into doing something they found uncomfortable or untoward. They did, of course, miss out on the generous bonuses for those who participated.

Even without all of the girls participating, the room was still awash in colorful garters, nylons (Dupont, of course), babydolls, chemises, brassieres, boy shorts, bloomers, knickers, camiknickers, peignoirs, petticoats, panties, pettipants, teddies, camisoles, corsets, and drawers. It was a veritable garden of colorful lingerie, and pretty, sexy bodies.

As he passed each desk, the secretary would stand up, her breasts bouncing and wiggling, sometimes very clearly evident through a lacy, sheer, or diaphanous top, "Hello, I'm Melody, fly me!" "Hello, Mr. Swim, I'm Pamela, fly me." "Mr. Swim, hello, I'm Tracie, fly me." Yes, Mr. Swim felt that there were a number of good ideas in this proposal.

One "stewardess" attracted his particular attention. Her back was turned as they approached and when she noticed them arrive she leaned over the desk, flipped her camisole off her bottom and over her back, thrust her violet pantied bottom out and up, and turned her face back to him. "Oh! Mr. Swim, won't you fly me?"

Mr. Swim was rock hard by the time they reached the boardroom. Babs and Joan walked Mr. Swim inside. Mr. Draper stayed behind, for the moment.

The conference table and leather swivel chairs were gone. They were greeted instead by a few rows of airline seats. It was a facsimile of a National Airlines first class cabin.

"Here we are," Joan and Babs said in unison, "First class seating." There were only two seats together, and each was extremely roomy, with substantial leg room and spacious arm rests. They led him to one of the aisle seats, and he took his place.

"Oh sir," Babs said, as he continued to hug his briefcase to his lap. "Let me take care of your briefcase. We must stow all carry-on during take-off."

"Yes, well, um." He really didn't want to expose his more visceral reaction to the proposed campaign.

Babs let him keep the briefcase, for the moment, and reached above him, into the mock overhead compartment. She pretended to be having difficulty finding what she was looking for.

He felt she could take as much time as she wanted, as her large, bulbous, essentially naked breasts were jiggling just above his eyes, and standing up rather nicely with her arms raised over her head. As long as she continued to search within the overhead compartment, he could ogle them as much as he wanted. It was so tempting to reach up and poke, bat, bobble, or squeeze one. But, he knew that you really shouldn't fondle the stewardesses, although that could perhaps be another perk of First Class travel. That would certainly put them ahead of Braniff.

Babs paused for a moment to turn her attention back to Mr. Swim. "Do you see the advantage of these new uniforms, Mr. Swim?"

"Excuse me?"

"Haven't you at times imagined what the breasts of a stewardess might look like?"

"Well, no, no, not really."

"Mr. Swim now, be honest. You can always be honest with a stewardess. Her only concern is your safety and your comfort. As we say at National Airlines, 'The better we know you, the more we can serve you.'"

He was impressed. This advertising agency was a wealth of nice slogans. "Well, yes, of course I have wondered, any man does wonder."

"Well, at National Airlines, we have nothing to hide. What you see is what you get."

And, he certainly would like to get it, or more accurately, them.

Babs gently took the briefcase from his hands, and immediately sat down on his embarrassment, or actually his lap, and handed the luggage to Joan. "Here, Joan, stow away Mr. Swim's briefcase. I think he's feeling a little nervous about flying with us today and he may need some extra special first class attention."

"Well, of course, Babs, I would be happy to." Joan reached above Mr. Swim to stow away his case, being sure to let her pendulous breasts swing and sway before him. "Goodness, it seems to be a pretty tight fit here. He's got such a big one, I'm not sure I can get it all the way in."

He wasn't pleased to hear the implication that National Airlines did not have ample storage capacity for their passengers' luggage. He could not imagine an airline not being able to accommodate a passenger's carry-on. He always said, 'If it doesn't fit, it's a free trip.' But, he did appreciate that Joan's remark was more for his pleasure than a suggested slogan, although it was hard to tell when these girls were not proposing slogans. In any case, how could he complain when Joan's pendulous boobs were even bumping into his face. He wondered if it would be improper to grasp one of her nips within his lips.

Babs settled into his lap, although she did have to make some adjustments. "Mr. Swim, now, you know, FAA regulations prohibit passengers carrying on board any weapons. You don't have a gun or anything like that in your pants."

"No, ma'am. I don't."

"Are you sure? I feel something poking my little soft bottom, and it could just well be a gun. You surely don't want that going off during flight."

"I'm just happy to see you."

Babs laughed. "Well, I can't be sure. I think I'll have to search you to be certain."

Mr. Swim smiled. These girls were really stretching their imaginations. The likelihood anything like this ever happening on a flight was really quite low. Imagine the thought of having to search passengers before they got onto a flight! There was really no need to do that. "Well, if you think it will help ensure passenger safety, I certainly wouldn't object."

"Well, aren't you the considerate passenger. You're just the customer we love to serve at National Airlines." Babs slid back on his lap a bit to give herself some room, unzipped his slacks, and with an expert, smooth, quick motion reached in and extracted his stiff cock.

Mr. Swim hardly had a moment to react, let alone object, not that he would have in fact objected. "Whoa! You certainly are proficient at that."

"We are all very well trained at National Airlines."

He asked with some skepticism, "This was part of your training?"

"We are trained to handle all emergencies, sir," she responded, her hand sliding up and down the executive's stiff cock.

He glanced around, feeling a bit uncomfortable about the fact that his cock was being exposed in the boardroom of Sterling Cooper. He was certainly grateful that Mr. Draper had not followed them in. He would find it rather awkward to have a secretary handle his cock in front of her boss.

Babs smiled knowingly, and reassuringly. "Now, Mr. Swim, don't be concerned, as we say at National Airlines, 'Everything that happens in first class, stays in first class.'"